


War in the Shadows

by illusivities



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusivities/pseuds/illusivities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Kingdom of Polaris, loyalties and motives twist and shift in the blink of an eye. With the hushed whispers of Magic returning to the land and the criminal organization known as the Syndicate growing more unstable and bold, those in power seek a way to keep their citizens protected. Out of the suggestion that Magic could be used to protect the populous, two different entities are born. But which offers freedom, and which offers merely a gilded cage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past is Prologue

“You can’t tell anyone Sam.”

Sam turned over on the grass, the blades tickling her bare feet. Propping her head up on one hand, she looked over at her friend, rolling her eyes.

“Hanna, why do you want to see a tourney anyway? They’re so dumb. A bunch of dumb boys fake fighting with each other while people bet on who’s going to win. They’re all fixed anyway.”

“It’s not the tourney I want to see; I’ll be able to see the _Capitol_! And I’ll get to see it with _him_. Who cares about the fights? I’ll be able to get out of this stupid small village!”

Sam watched her friend, feeling her own mouth pull into a frown at how miserable she looked.

“You won’t even tell me who _he_ is. It’s a long way to the Capitol on foot; what if something happens to you? And what about your mom - she’s going to be so worried when she can’t find you.”

Hanna scoffed. “Yeah right. The only time she notices me is when I’m getting yelled at for something. If I’m gone, then I’m not doing something wrong. She won’t notice.”

 _No, your mom cares about you. She asks you about your day, she makes sure you have clothes to wear and food to eat. It’s_ my _mom who wouldn’t notice if I went missing._

Hearing the silence from her usually talkative audience, Hanna rolled over to face her friend. “I’ll be fine Sam. After all, I’ll be with _him_. He’s better than any knight in shining armor that I could find in the Capitol. And he’s all mine.”

The next morning began like any other. Sam got out of bed before dawn, starting the fire in the main room of the shanty that she and her mom shared. After checking to make sure that her mother had found her way back to their home sometime during the night, Sam was off to the pig farm down the way from them. It was run by an elderly man with no children to take over for him; if Sam was able to fill the pigs’ troughs with their water and slop before he came to check on them, sometimes she would get a piece of the man’s breakfast for her help. A chance of food was always better than no chance at all.

This particular morning she wasn’t so lucky. The pig farmer glared at her as Sam emptied the last pail of water into the pigs’ trough. Picking up a nearby pitchfork, the old man hobbled towards her.

“Get away from my pigs you little urchin! If I catch you back here one more time, I’ll call the Guard on you!”

Sam slid out between the rails of the pig pen, darting towards the forest that hemmed in the village. The man never chased her too far and hadn’t called the Guard on her yet, though he threatened to do so at least twice each moon. She’d leave him alone for a few days; it was usually enough time for him to forget and have breakfast for her again.

As she made her way slowly back towards the Common the sun began to rise, painting the sky with brilliant oranges and pinks, luring the other villagers out of bed to begin their day.

“G’day Samantha!”

“Good morning Miss Barbara. How are you today?”

“Well, Master Trent headed out to the Capitol not too long ago, wanting to sell his ironwork to the knights competing in the tourney. Made such a ruckus, loading that wagon with all them metal bits.” Miss Barbara sighed. “Figured since I was up and all, might as well get an early start to the day. Off with you now, your mom’s probably wondering where you’re at.”

Sam smiled politely in the woman’s direction. _Probably not. I wonder if Hanna’s still here or if she really left._

She continued her trek until she came to a small dilapidated inn. It rarely saw any guests, but once in a while a weary traveller would stop by when they had misjudged the amount of time it took to get to or from the Capitol. The Frey’s, Hanna’s parents, ran the place and were always kind enough to have some odd job for Sam to complete in exchange for a small meal.

“Oh, hello Sam. Old Man Gregor run you off his farm again?” Master Frey was a giant of a man - at least to Sam - but had eyes wrinkled from a life full of smiles.

“Yes Master Frey. And he waited till I was done with all the lifting too!”

He let out a full-bellied laugh that made Sam want to smile along with him. “Well come on in, we’ll get you some warm porridge and you can help me cut and haul the wood to fix up these steps. One of these days I swear I’m going to fall through the darn things.” He started to walk back into the inn, but paused and turned as he reached the doorway. “Did Hanna happen to tag along with you this morning?”

“No sir.” Sam looked him straight in the face, fighting the need to look down at her feet. Hoping that would be the end of his questions.

Master Frey sighed. “That girl. Sometimes I can’t get her out of bed before breakfast is half over, other times she’s up so early I wonder if she actually slept. No matter, I’m sure she’ll turn up sooner or later.”

Sam went about her day, doing small tasks here and there for a bit of food, a piece of cloth, or a bit of thread. Anything to stay out of her mother’s way in the daylight hours. Anything to keep her mind off of Hanna, and who she might be with. Anything to help her keep her mouth shut and her worry to herself.

One day went by, then another. The old pig farmer, Master Gregor, once again shared his bread and bacon breakfast with her. Every day, Master Frey would ask, “Have you seen Hanna?” and every day, Sam would look into his face and reply, “No sir.”

Until one day. Smoke covered up the mid-day sun; the earth beneath her feet trembled. The next morning a frantic rider approached the village, telling anyone within earshot of huge rocks that flew through the air on fire, smashing through the Tourney Grounds and all that surrounded them.

He spun tales of a blaze that was so hot, the knights armor melted into their bodies; of fires so wild, that water could not tame them. Of how he watched, horrified, from a nearby hill as none escaped from the flames. Not the women and children, or knights, or horses, or even the members of Control’s Guard. And of how no one knew how such a thing was possible.

That night, Sam packed up what little she could carry and headed for the Capitol. If Hanna was in the area, she would find her. If not, well, there was nothing left for her in the village. She didn’t belong there. And if she happened to come across information on what could rain flaming rocks down from the sky… so much the better.

* * *

“But Father, you promised!”

John looked into his son’s face, so hurt, so angry. He reached out a hand to push back a lock of unruly blond hair, only to have his son jerk back, arms folded over his chest.

“I’m sorry Andrew, but King Peter has called together an emergency meeting of his advisors and delegates. He’s the King - I have to go.”

Andrew dropped his gaze to focus on a half-unearthed stone by his foot. He continued to nudge at it with the toe of his boot.

“Son, look at me.”

He continued to dig up the stone - it wiggled now. The earth would soon release its hold on it. Dust covered the bottom half of his boot; he would have to take care to clean them before Mother noticed.

John sighed and grasped his son’s chin.

“Andrew, I promise that if there were a way for me to take you to the Tourney without disobeying my King, I would. You are the most important person in my life, you and your mother. But the King is the King, and we must follow his orders, no matter our personal feelings on the matter. I know _I_ would much rather watch the knights than have to pander to a bunch of puffed up delegates all telling the King how to run his own country.”

The anger was disappearing from Andrew’s eyes, though the hurt still shone through.

“I know this doesn’t quite make up for it, but over there is Ser Ramsey. See?” John drew his son’s attention across the road to a man in armor leaning against a horse that was so brushed that the gleam of its coat rivaled that of the man’s plate mail.

“Ser Ramsey is to ride in the joust at the Tourney, and he has agreed to take you with him. You’ll be able to meet all the knights and the competitors from all over the Realm. He may even let you practice your riding on an actual warhorse, if you ask him nice enough.”

A small smile began to tease at the corners of Andrew’s mouth.

“Well go on then son, you have a very full day to get to - and I have your mother to appease.”

John bent down to whisper into Andrew’s ear. “Between you and me, I’m almost more afraid of your mother’s wrath at me missing out on this day than I am of the King’s. Wish me luck in dealing with this fearsome creature?”

A grin appeared on the boy’s face, his nose crinkled up and eyes dancing in mischief. He gave his father a brief hug before running off towards Ser Ramsey. The wind carried his laughter back to John’s ears.

Taking a deep breath, John looked up towards the doorway where his wife was standing, an exasperated half-smile playing across her lips.

“I’m sorry my dear, but-“

She cut him off with a soft kiss, hand on his chest. “I know the man I married, John Greer. Your sense of duty towards the Realm is one of the many things I love about you. I’m sorry that you cannot be the one to show the Tourney to Andrew, but I understand. If the King calls, you must answer. It’s who you are.”

With a pat over his heart, she turned to follow after their son. “Now if I’m not mistaken, you have quite the circus to help wrangle at the Palace. Best not to keep the King waiting; some of those idiots he’s cooped up with may not survive.”

“Very well. Give my love to Andrew. I’ll miss the both of you.”

* * *

“Father, we haven’t even seen the smiths yet!”

The man in question closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and proceeded to help his wife and young son into the back of the cart. “Sameen, I already told you that we must get going if we’re going to make it back home before nightfall. I let you stay far too late visiting with the warhorses; there’s no way that we will arrive back at the manor before supper.”

Seeing the furrow etching its way between his daughter’s eyes, he compromised. “How about you stay up front with me. When we get out of the Capitol, I’ll let you drive the horses. How about that?”

Sameen tilted her head, considering the offer. With a single sharp nod, she spun on her heel and clambered up to the front bench.

Her father let out another heavy breath as he wondered, not for the first time, why his daughter couldn’t have been his son; she would have made a much better Lord Shaw than a lady of whichever house he happened to marry her off to when she was old enough. Next year, he would have to start preparing her for courtship, to give her time to get used to being a proper lady. His wife already scolded him for letting Sameen run so freely. But the time would come soon enough that he would have to say goodbye to his little shadow; he wouldn’t rush it any sooner than absolutely necessary.

As the day wore on, the clomping of the horses and the rocking of the cart lulled the two passengers to sleep, but Sameen’s eyes were alight with pleasure. Sure, the horses weren’t going very fast, and they didn’t have to turn very much, but _she_ was telling them where to go. She held the reins as her Father watched the sky and told her about the pictures the clouds created above them. The stories were kind of boring, not enough battles took place in fluffy clouds, but it was much better than listening to Mother tell her about how a Lady was supposed to act. Proper Ladies didn’t seem like they could have any fun at all!

_Boom._

A loud noise that seemed to echo through her bones filled the air. The ground shook, the cart wheels rattled on their axles.

_Boom. Ba-Dum._

One of the horses let out a piercing neigh in fright, taking off down the road at breakneck speed. The cart listed from one side, then to the other, as the horses fought the harness containing them. Her Father grabbed at the reins, hauling them back to his chest, but the horses wouldn’t slow down.

“Marcus, what’s going on?” cried out Lady Shaw. Robbie started crying, an annoying wail that made Sameen want to punch him.

“I don’t know my dear, just hold on! I don’t know when these beasts will stop!”

On and on the horses ran, Father guiding them the best he could as smoke filled the sky and obscured the path, hoping that the horses would run themselves ragged and stop before too long.

“Father, up ahead - get them to turn! Make them listen!” To his horror, the road made a sharp turn to the left, the land to the right crumbling down into a raging river. No amount of pulling got through to the horses, so lost were they in their fright.

Sameen heard a scream - _Mother!_ - then cold water covered her body, a sharp pain radiated through her head, and all was quiet.

* * *

The ground was cold and wet under her. A cough wracked its way through her body, water spilling out of her mouth. A large hand clapped her on the back, and Sameen whirled around, only to put a hand over her mouth as the world spun and colors faded around her.

Through the roaring in her head, she heard a voice saying, “Take it easy lass, that was a nasty tumble you took. Deep breaths, get your bearings.” The voice paused, then continued in low, gentle tones. “What’s your name girl?”

“Sameen. Sameen Shaw.”

“Well then Shaw, you’re a right lucky one. Coulda split your head open, what with that current. What were you doing in the river after dark?”

Blinking, Sameen looked up and scanned the sky and river. Night had fallen. No horses, no cart. No other people besides this man with short curly hair and a patchy beard.

“Father? Father!” she rose to her feet, looking up at the man beside her. “My family was coming back from the tourney and the horses spooked. We fell into the river… Father!” Sameen continued to call out towards the river. “Did you see him?”

The man put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face him. “Two horses and a cart? A man and woman, a young boy?”

Sameen moved away from his hand and went back to scanning the river. “Yes, do you know where they went?”

“Girl, look at me.” Once he had her attention, he continued. “We found them Sameen. I’m so sorry; they didn’t make it.”

Slowly, Sameen nodded. She looked down at her feet for a moment or two, then looked into the stranger’s face.

“Do you have any food; I didn’t get to have supper.”

The man blinked, and nodded back at her. “Me and my men made camp not too far from here. I’m sure we can find you something.”

“Ok.”

The man led her away from the river. They walked for a while before the noise of a campfire greeted their ears. “My name’s Hersh by the way.”

“Ok Hersh. Do you have any jerky at your camp? Or swords? I like swords. Not to eat though. That would be weird.”

* * *

The halls of the Palace were abuzz. Servants, soldiers, nobles, visiting delegates; all of them were trying to piece together what might have happened. One room in particular was filled with people frantically attempting to make sense of the event.

“Silence!” An older, heavyset woman had made her way to the front of the room. Immediately, a hush came over the gathered group. “Take your seats.” Fabrics rustled, heavy wooden chairs were dragged across stone floors. Silence returned to the group. “We are not children; to squabble as such shames the title of “Advisor”. Now, will those with an eye witness account of the event please identify yourselves by the raising of a hand.”

You could have heard a pin drop as the advisors, previously so chatty, now were reduced to statues except for their ever-flickering eyes. None wanted to be the first to admit that all of their chatter was based on hearsay - whispers of gossip. After a moment, one shaky hand made its way into the air.

“Yes Advisor Finch? You can tell us of the event?”

“Y-yes, Madam Control.”

A moment passed. One too many. Madam Control locked eyes with the advisor seated across the room. He rarely spoke in these meetings - though he could be quite the conversationalist when gotten alone. Control suspected that it was the large number of people these meetings gathered that stilled his tongue.

“Yes, take all day. It’s not as if the King doesn’t need this information on the attack.”

The advisor seated to the left of him, a Nathan Ingram, gave him a slight nudge. “Come on Harold, tell the lady what happened.”

“Well, it’s quite defies conventional explanation. One moment the day was bright and fair, the Tourney progressing as expected, and those gathered enjoying themselves. I was on a nearby rise overseeing an artist the King had commissioned to capture the event. Suddenly, what appeared to be flaming rocks rained down from the sky. Not as if someone had shot them with catapults. A hole in the sky opened up and flaming rocks that appeared to be the size of a cart wheel fell out.“

Harold paused, halting his desire to get up and pace the room by tightening his grip on the arm rests of his chair. The edges of the wood cut indents into his palms, the slight pain anchoring him in the moment.

“I must have counted upwards of three dozen before it occurred to me to move. By the time they ceased falling, the entire Tourney Grounds were decimated. Not a person, horse, or building survived.”

Harold swallowed and lowered his eyes to the table.

“And what, pray tell, should we tell the King? His brother was among those in the lists, and he hasn’t returned to the Palace. Collier’s are not particularly known for their patience when grieving; he will want an explanation, and quickly.”

Silence reigned in the Advisors’ Hall. “Anyone?”

Harold once again raised his eyes to meet those of Madam Control.

“There is only one plausible explanation that I can offer: Magic… has returned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to my first posting in this fandom (Yay!) and what will (hopefully) be my first completed story! Any and all comments are welcome/encouraged/craved....
> 
> Side note, would anyone care to beta this? I will admit to a) not being a perfect editor and b) sometimes carrying the title of laziest person in the universe (AKA I may occasionally lack motivation but respond rather well to threats of physical pain and would appreciate it if someone on occasion might hit me over the head with the need to finish this).
> 
> Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed!


	2. A Little Bit of Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer than expected, but the next chapter's here! Putting out insane kudos to most awesome beta Rahlian :)
> 
> Oh, and any remaining mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

_10 years later_

Burning flesh had a curious smell. Most people didn’t like it, but Shaw was pretty sure that it was just the smell of the hair that people found unpleasant. Right then, the scent was just making her hungry. _Steak_ she thought, _steak sounds really good right now._

“There you are! Damn it Shaw, I was running over half the Palace grounds looking for you!”

Michael Cole could be described as many things, one of which was squeamish at the sight of severed limbs. Shaw tried not to hold it against him - he had his uses, after all. Cole could do the whole “get someone to trust you and spill their darkest secrets” thing without blackmail or torture, which could be helpful. Sometimes. But definitely not fun, so he might as well do that part.

“I just don’t get why you’d stick around a Healer’s hut.” Cole spared a glance to the man cauterizing some unfortunate’s amputated leg. “No offense meant, Healer.”

The Healer, who hadn’t looked up from his task since Cole had entered the building, merely grunted. Whether the sound was in response to Cole’s apology or not was questionable.

Shaw walked around the table to pick up a leather sack filled with… something. She tested the heft and, finding it satisfactory, left a small pile of coins in its place.

“And that’s why _I’m_ the Catalyst, and you’re my squire. There are plenty of things for people in our line of work to learn in a Healer’s hut.”

Without so much as a goodbye to the Healer, she made her way out. Shutting the door behind her, Shaw asked, “So we got a target?”

* * *

It was late, or early depending on how you looked at it, and they were stuck in another slum outcropping of the Capitol. At least this place had a tavern with a decent ale, which was more than Shaw could say for some of the places she and Cole had stopped at.

As the last of the tavern-goers trickled out into the morning sun, Cole packed away his lute and handed over a portion of his earnings to the barkeep. _Finally. I’m not sure I could have taken one more verse of whatever that last song was._

It wasn’t that he was _bad_ for a minstrel, just the opposite actually. But Shaw had issues with being in the same tavern for hours on end. Especially when she wasn’t allowed to punch people - not even the ones who _really_ deserved it.

Like the idiot who thought it was a good idea to slap her ass and pin her to a wall when she changed seats. Bared teeth and a dagger at his prized jewels got him to back off, but sometimes a little more violence than a threat was desired. But no, she couldn’t cause any sort of _scene_ that might get them thrown out. Didn’t mean she couldn’t find the bastard later and teach him some manners though. Shaw smiled at the thought, then turned her attention back to her partner.

“You done chatting up every last drunk in spitting distance?”

Cole smirked at her. “And this is why _I’m_ the Spider and you’re my bodyguard. There are plenty of things for people in our line of work to learn in a tavern.”

Holding back a groan, Shaw got up from the table. “I hate it when you do that.” When Cole got within arms’ reach, she slugged him in the shoulder - not too hard. He still winced. _Wuss._

“So, dazzle me with information.”

Cole glanced around nervously. Shaw rolled her eyes, grabbed his tunic, and pulled him into the alleyway. “Stop being so obvious. If anyone was watching, at least now they only think that you were new at paying someone for sex.”

Cole’s expression was a cross between lust and horror. It made Shaw want to smile a bit. He opened his mouth a few times, but as he remained speechless, Shaw just smirked at him.

After a moment, they continued walking. “You know of Stannis, right?”

“Unconventional weapons maker. Eccentric. Works mostly with the Yogorov branch of the Syndicate. Remember the bottled poison air I used a few months back? That was his stuff.”

Cole let out a scoff. “I think I made myself forget. You know how insane it is to use his stuff? Honestly, you and those Yogis are the only ones crazy enough to bother.”

Shaw’s chest puffed out, pleased at the compliment. “Well, if it works…”

“Shut up you. Anyways, word is he’s got something new cooked up for one of the Syndicate’s territory disputes. Makes people who drink something exposed to it sick. Problem is, this sort of thing gets out of hand too easily.”

Shaw nodded. “You’ve got our intel ready to get to Control?”

“All written down here. Raven’ll be sent out when we reach camp. We should have our orders by midday.”

“Good enough. You go do that - I’ll find you later.” With that, Shaw took off back up the alley. Sleep, sustenance, and sex. That was what she needed. In whatever order she happened to find them.

* * *

“We have a job for you.”

Brothels, Root had found, were an excellent place to conduct business. Clients expected discreet service, and the whores were adept at turning a blind eye.

Of course, there was also the side benefit of being able to go from shadowy lurker to just another pretty face with the aid of a hooded cloak.

“And which ‘we’ are we today Nicky? Your allegiance switches so much, I’m not sure I can keep track.” A mischievous smile played across her face as her eyes lit up.

Nikolai bit back a growl. It wouldn’t do to bring too much attention to themselves, and getting into a fistfight with the person next to him surely would do that.

“Yogorov commissioned a new weapon from Stannis. Wants to use it to push Elias back out of the Docks. HR thinks they could put it to better use elsewhere. You get half upfront, the rest when you deliver the device. You know the drop.”

As he caught the eye of a passing redhead, Nikolai concluded their business with a subtle nudge to the bag beneath his companion’s chair. With a rakish grin plastered on his face, he followed his chosen conquest upstairs.

“You go, Nicky Boy.” Root said to herself as she tested the heft of her payment. Take the money and take the job. Leave the money and don’t get involved in the messy Syndicate politics. Well, playing nice and clean wasn’t her style.

“Time to see a man about a boat.”

* * *

When people become experts in their field, Root noticed, they tend to pick up any number of eccentricities. Some were admittedly more practical than others, such as her own propensity for having no fewer than six blades on her person at any given time in addition to the handful of sleeper darts. She turned her attention to the landscape in front of her.

Others weren’t quite so practical.

Stannis was brilliant, no denying, but Root often thought that spending so much time amongst his concoctions had more than addled his mind. After all, the man lived, worked, and conducted business on a fishing boat in full view of the Palace.

Walking through the docks, Root let out a smile. The salty air tousled her hair and the sounds of screeching seagulls mixed with the loud and foul banter of seamen as they went about their duties. Letting her gait loosen into an ambling roll, she stepped into her next persona. _I do love my job._

“What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ all the way out here, eh?”

Root turned towards the grizzled captain, a full-blown wicked grin on her face. “Not sure who you’re callin’ a lady, but I’m lookin’ for a bit o’ coin. You be needing someone in the rigging?”

The captain quirked an unruly eyebrow at her. “Matter o’ fact, mine just went missing. Was supposed to come back yesterday morning and still hasn’t shown up.”

 _Of course he hasn’t._ Generally, dead people didn’t show up to work the next day. Poor boy, a smile and a tug towards the woods was all it took for him to follow her. Even when her knife slipped between his ribs his expression hadn’t changed. It reminded her of a puppy about to be taken for its first walk outside. Cute, in a rather pathetic way.

“This one’s just a short run down the coast. Tell ya what, do well for me and I’ll give ya a permanent spot on the crew.”

Root nodded and started up the gangplank. “Name’s Peyton; happy to serve with you captain.”

“Right then, go get to yer monkey business, we’re about ready t’cast off. I’ll have one of the boys show ya around once we’re underway.”

The launch went smoothly and soon enough there was a crowd of sailors intent on giving her the best tour of the ship. Honestly, it was hard to believe they had just gotten back from shore leave.

Coming up on the starboard side, something caught Root’s eye. “Well boys it’s been a pleasure, but I have to go now.” Without further ado, she climbed up on the hull and dove off the side, leaving behind the cacophony of her bewildered admirers.

Root made good time and before too long was clinging to the side of a fishing boat so run-down she was mildly surprised it was still afloat. The one issue that she had with Stannis’ place of business was its size. The thing was so small that it was hard to move about without getting caught. While Root _could_ just kill him and pick up the device, she’d rather not. After all, it wasn’t good business to kill your supplier.

“Come on now Stan, are you _sure_ that you don’t have anything new for me? I promise to make it worth your while.”

 _Shit._ Root froze and plastered herself to the wall of the cabin. The voice was smooth, feminine. _He wasn’t supposed to have company. He_ never _takes people this far out on his boat!_

“Well, I do have this one thing, but it’s not really your style. Mass random casualties. Best used for siege or turf warfare. Not the precision work that you do best.”

“Well, I’m thinking of branching out. Never know when a more… _interesting_ offer might come along.”

“Fine, I’ll show you Shaw. But you’re gonna have to wait for me to make another; this one’s headed for someone in the Syndicate and I’d rather not piss them off.”

There was a moment of silence, then a series of small thumps shivered through the boat.

“Sorry Stan, but you were starting to piss _me_ off. No one likes being pigeon-holed.”

There were a few clinks, glass on glass, then the squeak of a not-so-well oiled door. Root pressed herself further back into the shadows. She caught a flash of dark hair as the woman - _Shaw_ \- gracefully leapt off the other side of the boat. The thud her boots made as they connected with something solid echoed in the quiet.

Once Root was sure all was clear - apparently Shaw had jumped onto a rowboat - she entered the cabin.

She was surprised at the amount of blood. “Good girl, cut the carotid and vocal chords in one blow. I like her style. Silent and quick death even when alone in the middle of the ocean.”

Root spent another moment perusing what was left of Stannis’ inventory, but as suspected the device was no longer there. There were, however, a surprising amount of explosives.

“Explosions. There’s something so _satisfying_ about them.”

Root spent the better part of the afternoon rigging the boat to go up in flames. Failure to deliver on arranged services to the Syndicate was usually met with a painful death, so it would be best for all involved if she could be presumed dead. An explosive accident on Stannis’ boat would serve her well.

As dusk fell, Root set the boat adrift, prepared the time-delayed fuse, and once more jumped into the ocean. If all went well, she would have a good 15 minutes to get as far away from the soon-to-be pyre as possible. It wouldn’t do to waste it.

* * *

“Nathan, I didn’t know you would be accompanying us on this voyage.” Harold turned to greet his friend. Leaving the Capitol for any length of time was not his preferred duty as an Advisor of the King’s Council. Nathan’s presence surely would make the journey more enjoyable.

Nathan grasped Harold’s arm. “I didn’t know myself until early this morning. Have you been assigned quarters yet? There’s a matter I must discuss with you - privately.”

Harold swallowed, his face furrowed in concern. “Oh, yes. Of course. Follow me.”

Once the door to Harold’s quarters was firmly shut, Nathan began divesting himself of his outer garments. “Honestly, whomever stated that being out on the ocean was chilly must have never been roasting on deck in full leather outerwear. I feel like one of those spitted pigs prepared for a feast!”

A flash caught Harold’s eye. He couldn’t force himself to look away from his friend’s hand. Surely, that couldn’t be what it looked like. “Nathan? Nathan, what are you doing with one of those?”

Nathan looked down at his hand. A thick silver band encircled his right index finger, a smooth sapphire stone set on top. Intricate carvings that seemed to dance and shift with the light were engraved into the metal.

“I’m sorry Harold. I tried to leave it alone like you said, but the places kept eating away at me. During my shift at the Eye, I would see the places surface in the water. The locations outlined in blue, they were always passed along to be taken care of. But the ones in gold, those classified as Small… they haunted me Harold. And there were so many more of them.”

Nathan took a breath, and all the force holding him upright seemed to drain out of him. He slouched down onto the crudely hewn bed.

“After you wove together your Conjuration and we presented it to the Council, I know you wanted nothing more to do with it. No access, nothing. You didn’t even want to be informed of the Vital missions.”

He took off the ring, spinning it in the candlelight.

“I may not be a mage of your caliber - I don’t believe there is anyone who could make that claim - but I can access some small portion of the Gift. Enough to create this.”

Nathan passed the ring to Harold, who looked at it with both interest and panic.

“Inside the sapphire is a drop of infused water from the Eye. The glyphs on the band strengthen the connection between the two. When a new location appears in the Eye, the band warms. If the ring is submerged in water within the next two hours, the image shown in the Eye is reflected on the water’s surface.”

Nathan looked Harold full in the face for the first time since the ring was uncovered.

“You don’t know the torture it has been - knowing something devastating was happening somewhere and ignoring it. Just last week, one of the garrison’s just outside of the Capitol was shown. Since it was golden, I was told to leave it alone. That garrison was full of our people - good men who had sworn to protect and serve their King. But because it was a threat classified as Small, I could do nothing.”

He paused, closed his eyes, and swallowed.

“The next day, I was called upon to help investigate an attack. It was in the Red District. One of Zoe’s lieutenants thought that they could oust her from her place in the Syndicate, and chose it as the staging ground. Our people tried to keep the peace. It was a slaughter. And I could have stopped it. Warned them, at least, that something was going to happen. So I made the ring.”

His voice hardened. “They can’t control what I do on my time, not yet at least.”

Nathan plucked the ring out of Harold’s hands. “An interesting thing happened last night. The King’s yacht was marked as a Nexus - not once, but twice. Both blue and gold. Vital and Small.”

With a sigh, he placed the ring in Harold’s palm, closing his fist around it. “Watch out my friend, things may get dangerous.”

Harold turned to him in shock. “Nathan, I _do not_ want this. I’ve spent years _avoiding_ this kind of responsibility.”

Nathan sighed. “Please keep it for me. I fear its usefulness to me may have run its course. I would rather it be in your hands than any others’.”

“Very well, for the sake of our friendship I’ll take it, but that doesn’t mean I’ll use it.”

* * *

Harold Finch was a very particular man. He had his patterns, his routines. They provided comfort, especially when out of his element.

He had just returned from the galley, carrying a bowl of - admittedly questionable - stew. Placing it to the side of his bed, Harold took off his shoes and moved to the wash basin. It was time to begin his nightly routine. One could never be too clean on a ship after all, even one as nice as the King’s.

A commotion began above him. Feet thudded back and forth, raised voices blurred indistinctly. Within moments, there was a frantic knock at the door.

“Sir, come out quick! There appears to be a boat set on a collision course towards us. It looks to be on fire! We must evacuate you and the other members of Court!”

And with that the lad, for he couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, rushed off to warn the other noble passengers.

Harold shoved his feet back into his shoes and made for the hallway. The next moments were a blur of people and sound crushing around him. Before he quite processed what was happening, he found himself in line for a lifeboat.

He was dimly aware of a Catalyst pair shepherding King Peter off the yacht, and if he were more himself he would have been pleased with that. The Conjuration was indeed protecting the Realm, for what was a Realm without a King?

Harold continued to scan the press of bodies but was unable to locate Nathan. He wasn’t along the side of the boat, nor was he already off the ship. Cold dread began to fill his body as he took off away from the crowd.

Spying a forgotten mop bucket, Harold dropped to his knees, fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out Nathan’s ring. Putting it on, he thrust his hand into the brackish water.

The surface remained stubbornly blank.

“Damn you, show me where on this ship Nathan is! I know you can see him - we’re at _sea._ There’s water _everywhere_ out here!”

The water remained clear - mocking him with an unobstructed view of the bottom of the bucket.

“What is the point of showing him the Small locations if you’re not going to _let me help him!_ ”

The ring began to warm on his finger. The water rippled. An image of Nathan surrounded by casks, barrels, and bottles appeared. The galley storeroom.

“Thank you.”

Harold took off running. Flying down corridors, tripping down rickety staircases. Stumbling into… a woman carrying a child?

“I am so sorry Sir, which way to the upper deck?”

Harold mutely pointed back the way he had come. Before the woman could take off running, he grabbed her arm.

“What were you doing down here?”

She looked down and adjusted her grip on the child. “My husband is… not a nice man. When it was just me, it was ok. But Gavin,” she brushed back her son’s hair as he clung to her. “He needed to be safe. So I hid on the first boat out of port. A man came down here to warn me that it wasn’t safe. That I needed to get off the ship.”

A loud crashing sound met their ears as the world around them shook. Harold caught the woman’s eye.

“He was right, you need to leave. I’ll find the man and get him up to safety.”

With a grateful nod, the woman gathered up her skirt in her free hand and took off running.

“Nathan! Nathan, where are you?” Harold continued to call as he neared the storeroom.

When he opened the door, disaster met his eyes. All the previously stacked containers were thrown about. Some were cracked open, their contents spilled around the room. A faint coughing drew his attention.

“Nathan! We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Nathan’s coughing continued. “What are you doing here Harold? You should have been safe off the ship by now…”

“Hush, I’m going to get you out too. Come on now.”

“You shouldn’t have come back for me.”

Harold grabbed Nathan under the arms and hauled him upright. “Got your feet under you? Good. Now let’s get moving. I would never leave a friend-“

_Boom._

The world shook again, throwing the men back on the ground. Harold’s head spun. _It shouldn’t be this warm._

His head was too heavy to hold up. Collapsed on the floor, blackness clouded his eyes. His ears were ringing, until suddenly there was silence.

It was so very hard to breathe.

* * *

“This! This is why your construct needed to be able to intervene in events, not just monitor them!”

John Greer paused. In the wake of the attack on the King’s yacht, the Palace had been overwhelmed with all manner of people. He himself was taking a (much deserved, of course) break from the demands of the nobility by wandering through the bowels of the Palace - the remains of the Keep of a kingdom time had forgot. But apparently someone besides himself had a better memory than time.

“Arthur, _this_ , as you so eloquently put it, only happened _because_ I decided to intervene. I assure you, if I and Master Ingram had left well enough alone, he would still be alive and I would not be confined to this bed.”

“Your Conjuration has nearly limitless power; at least before you decided to cripple it.” The voice - Arthur, Greer presumes - paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“That’s quite alright, Lord Claypool. What’s done is done, and no words you utter, no matter how awkward their choice, will change what is. I may never walk unaided again. I have accepted this. There is no need to let it hinder your vocabulary.”

A shaky laugh echoed through the stone halls.

“Truly Arthur, don’t let this bother you. If anything, it will serve as a reminder of how dangerous these things can be. I never should have imbued The Conjuration with the amount of learning, of power, that it possesses. We have been playing with forces beyond our understanding. If anything, we must keep a tighter reign on it; not push its capabilities.”

There was another lull in the conversation. Greer looked around, trying to find something to explain his presence should the voices make an appearance.

“I’ll return later, old friend. Duty calls.”

Greer ducked into the shadows as a short, stout figure hurried past him. _Hello, Arthur Claypool._ A construct of limitless power, now that was something to follow up on. But at a later time.

As Lord Claypool stated, duty calls.


End file.
